


The Impotance of Being Sorted

by excepttemptation



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Dark, Amoral!James, Cousin Incest, Extramarital Relationships, Jealousy, M/M, Marriage of Convenience, Slytherin!Sirius
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-05-18
Updated: 2013-06-04
Packaged: 2017-11-05 13:49:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,107
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/407148
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/excepttemptation/pseuds/excepttemptation
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>Eyes on me. Close your eyes tomorrow, when they toss that vapid, boring bride of yours underneath you.</i>
</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>In which Sirius is sorted into Slytherin.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. introductions

_I guess Gryffindor's too well-behaved for the likes of me._ It's adolescent bravado, with a shrug and the promise of the years ahead gleaming in his crackling gray eyes.

 _Well, I guess if **you** got stuck in Slytherin they can't be all bad._ Potters are always in Gryffindor. 

Two dark-haired boys shake hands before they're pulled apart in the throng of the Great Hall.

They learn to talk about the world like it's an inside joke, one murmured just loud enough for others to realise they're missing something; like they have it all figured out, like it's a playground for them to conquer.


	2. progressions

_When did your brother get so... interesting?_

Now the Gryffindor captain, a fag is perched between his lips as the autumn air lifts his tousled black hair, stirring the borrowed scarf of green and gray hanging about his neck.

Sirius knows what James means by 'interesting' but doesn't look up from the book he is reading; the book charmed to look like a textbook so professors wouldn't try to take away yet another one of the books he brings from home. 'Inappropriate for children' they call them.

 _He doesn't go for blokes, or nearly much of anyone. High standards- something you'd know nothing about_. Sirius sounds almost bored by the conversation; James' passing interests are nothing new.

His pale, slender fingers gently slip the cigarette from James' lips, pressing it to his own. James smiles, re-rolling the curl of parchment dangling over his knees.

_I mean, you're good looking, but you're not that good looking._

James is grinning now, the grin only Sirius seems able to earn. _I'm fucking gorgeous. Twenty galleons._

_Done._

No one thinks it's so terribly peculiar anymore, the inseparable nature of James Potter and Sirius Black. After all, Godric and Salazar had been the best of friends. What's odd to James is how the Slytherins no longer seem to mind him much in their common room, but a pack of Gryffindors never bears Sirius's presence particularly well. It never seems to diminish their love for James, though-- for the quidditch captain who can lead them to victory over Slytherin.

Ravenclaw seem to think it's funny, the golden boy of Gryffindor and the pureblood prince of Slytherin, though they tend to keep their speculations to themselves.

 

The dueling club had been Sirius's idea. A few of the Slytherins think they see right through that.

It's the best when James and Sirius duel each other, Regulus thinks, the closest to what real dueling looks like. Sirius is a fighter of nearly overwhelming force. Where any other would look brutish and clumsy, Sirius is innately elegant. What others make look sloppy and forced he makes look effortless. And deadly. James is the only opponent who makes Sirius laugh in a duel. James is always laughing, taunting, chatting. Most of the time, against anyone but Sirius, he is casual mischief, like he thinks every hex cast in his direction is a punchline. Sirius is the only one who ever seems to force James to concentrate, and then James is an athlete, a creature of finesse and precision.

Still, James rarely seems to stop himself from playing, from stretching it out. But Sirius has plenty of practice with an opponent who likes to play with her food before eating it. More often than not, though not by much, Sirius wins.

Slytherins cheer and the rest dutifully applaud. Bright red stains down James' sleeve as Sirius helps him up. Sirius's shirt is sliced open, draping over one shoulder; the hair above his right shoulder is singed just a little shorter than the left. The bows they give each other skirt sarcasm, but the tradition is observed nonetheless.

 _Oh, after you, Mr. Black._ The gracious exaggeration is accompanied by a formal bow toward the stairs that lead off the platform.

 _Ladies first, Mr. Potter._ His bow is lower.

James offers a curtsy to Sirius and a wink to Slytherin while descending the steps. Before Professor Darbish can interrogate Sirius about exactly where he learned that last spell the pair of them are enveloped by a swarm of cajoling and back-slapping, allowing the two to slip off and patch each other up. The only time anyone's ever really hurt in this dueling club of theirs is when Sirius and James are dueling each other, something they've gotten good at hiding. Regulus smirks a bit to himself as they go, barely interested as a Hufflepuff and a Ravenclaw take the platform.

 

_James._

When did his voice get so breathless?

The ruby haze that had filled the Slytherin common room had made everything feel drowsy, like they had been walking around with their eyes half-closed; made the air feel thick enough to wade through. It had been an overload for Regulus, who generally prefers his space when it came to most people.

With family it's always different, like with Bellatrix, who had never stopped pulling his head into her lap, who had never stopped stroking her fingers through his hair, who had never stopped kissing him on the mouth. She doesn't kiss him like she kisses Sirius, though. But they're family, proximity simply comes with the territory. It never feels 'too close' when Sirius was close to him, when Sirius stands behind Regulus at the family Christmas party, perches over his shoulder and whispers who was who, points out which ones are harboring dark ink inside their skin, concealing it with the layers of their robes.

There had been a girl between himself and James only moments before. James, whose eyes seem too blue, too open and attentive for this sort of party, had whispered something in her ear. It must have been filthy, given his predatory smile and the way she rolls her eyes at him before slipping away. And then it's just James. And him. And very little space between them. Gradually at first, and then very suddenly James's hands are everywhere. 

Maybe they're dancing. 

Idle, roaming hands never break contact, never halt in the exploration of quidditch toned muscles sheathed in thin, pure white fabric.

Regulus feels dizzy. Hands across his chest and abdomen turns into their hips rocking together. Fingers tighten in James's hair as he leans his head into the slope of Regulus's neck. James's mouth is open and panting as it inches up Regulus' neck, heated air passing in waves over his flesh. It isn't enough. It's hot and aching and-- and so close to an ill-defined want that Regulus can almost see clearly, that the whole of his body is throbbing for.

When did they slip down the hall to the dormitory?

They're tumbling into Regulus's bed through a veil of dark hunter green as James slips off his tie. James is drunk, Regulus realizes. Rationalizes. But he's that contagious sort of drunk, where every time their lips meet Regulus can't help the way his eyes flutter closed or the soft moan that rises in the back of his throat. And it isn't adolescent fumbling. No curious exploration. No blushing. No averted eyes. It's hungry and searing. As hot and hazy as the party down the hall, the thrum of its muted music beating along with his pulse. James knows exactly what he's doing. And so does Regulus.

The morning is whitewashed and bleary. Too- bright light streams down through the lake into the common room. All evidence of the party swept away by the elves, leaving the whole place feeling slightly deserted; the air thinner, but gauzy. It isn't dust, it's just the sun-bleached morning muting out the night's smoldering vibrance.

Regulus wakes up alone, though the bed beside him still warm when his hand stretches out. He smiles into his pillow.

Two girls lay with arms intertwined across Sirius' bed, winding twist of soft, smooth curves. One of them still has green and silver silk tied around her wrist. The bed's owner hasn't been there for at least an hour.

The only souls awake are James and Sirius, sprawled out on the leather sofas in the common area. It's too early on a Sunday, after such a party, for the prefects to be in any shape to tell them not to smoke inside. James is wearing a pair of Sirius' pajama bottoms and his glasses are sitting on the nearby table.

 _Pay up._ James's throat is rough with recent sleep. And too much alcohol. And too many whispered words.

 _You're lying._ Sirius knows he isn't. He can always tell when James was lying, and James never lies to him.

_Three times._

_Tramp._

James grins.

 

Watching the two of them, Regulus can practically see their thoughts bleed together, a champagne of blending gold and silver. James is as much a mirror to Sirius's mind as Regulus is to Sirius's appearance. Sometimes Regulus feels like it's James and Sirius who are brothers, and he's the odd one out. But then he remembers he's a Black, and nothing matters more than that.

James will glance at him out of the corner of his eye from across the library and Regulus will wonder if Sirius knows just how often he and James are sleeping together. He probably does. James can't know a thing without Sirius knowing it, too. Regulus doesn't focus too hard on that, or on the way talking overly much about Sirius is something of an unspoken taboo between him and James.

Really, Regulus doesn't think he cares to know the full extent of the affections exchanged between his brother and his lover, so the arrangement suits him fine.

When Regulus graduates Sirius and Bellatrix throw him a party, a proper sort of party with the proper sort of people doing and discussing somewhat less-than-proper things. 

The estate Bella and Sirius share, the house Bella had grown up in, had passed to Sirius when Bella's father had died. Along with the house had come the position at head of the Black family. The shift of property and authority to Sirius's possession had seamless, effortless. Set in stone since the day he was born.

Remembering that it hadn't always been like this is sometimes a challenge. After all, the Blacks have always been fixed figures in the back rooms of politics and power. It's simply Sirius's turn.

Regulus still technically lives at Grimmauld Place, more a formality than anything else. It wouldn't have been right to leave his mother's home before he finished with school. Lots of things were changing now, though, and all of them seemed for the better.

While dancing with Bella, Regulus can't help but laugh a little at the auburn wisp on James' arm. Chaser for the Bats, James is never without some stunning witch to prowl around with. The girls change. Frequently. Just like they did back in school.

No one thinks it's the least bit strange how James and Sirius's heads are bent together in some animated, entirely private conversation. No one thinks it peculiar when James and Regulus are seen out together. At dinner, the opera, quidditch matches. After all, James has been living with Sirius since they finished Hogwarts. Whenever someone makes a blanket statement about the Black family it nearly always implicitly includes James Potter. It's how they arrive, perhaps, when the Blacks show up at any sort of event: Sirius and Bella, with determined bachelors James and Regulus.

 _It's going to be lovely once you move in, just like holidays to the south of France,_ Bella's murmuring against his cheek when he pulls her close.

Regulus's gaze drifts back to James.


	3. family

_Why don't you just move into my room?_ His grin is slack and sated, hair as out of sorts as James's.

 _I like my space._ Even as he nuzzles closer against Regulus.

Propped up on the mountain of white silk, the two of them are lost in the sea of Regulus's bed.

 _You sleep here half the time, anyway._ Sometimes he just likes to hear James's half-hearted arguments.

 _Maybe I like having two rooms._ His eyes are closing, his words dampened against Regulus's skin.

One next to Sirius's, one to share with Regulus.

 

 _Poor wittle Potter, practically a Black in every way but blood,_ Bella croons over dinner.

And it's the blood that matters most of all. For just an instant, when Sirius's fork clatters down on his plate, her sneer falters.

 _He's got at least a little Black blood in him_.

Two rowdy third-years crammed back in the baggage compartment so they wouldn't be disturbed, playing at juvenile games to make them brothers of their own choosing. A prick on the each other's fingers before they had to put away their wands for the summer. Boyish tongues and lips nursed the hurt from the wounds. As fifth-years Sirius only needed to cast a glance to clear their compartment of all other company. The basic act itself was the same, but given gravity and an echo of destiny by adding magic they were certain no one else on the train would ever be taught to use.

 _That was years ago, though. Maybe it's time to refresh the bond._ Sirius holds an open hand out to Bellatrix, who seems to understand.

_Sirius-_

_Bellatrix,_ he snaps, curbing her annoyed drawl.

His thumb affectionately strokes across her reluctantly surrendered palm. Most of the time they only seem capable of being sweet toward each other when the other is annoyed at the very least. She glares at Sirius as the tip of his wand slices a deep red ribbon across her silken flesh. Sirius doesn't have to ask for James' hand. Pressing together the twin cuts on the hands of his wife and his best friend, Sirius is smugly satisfied.

It is impossible to tell which displeases Bellatrix more; that her precious blood is seeping into James's body, or that traces of his are left over hers.

 

 _My parents are dead._ James's voice is a hollow sound. Fragile fingers, calloused from years on a broom, hold the parchment as though the slightest pressure would cause it to shatter.

Without a word Sirius's arms are around James's neck, and Regulus can't sort out how his brother got across the room so quickly. James's eyes are glassy. Vacant. James clings, the rigid tension of his body seeping out through the fingers clutching against Sirius's back.

 _Come on,_ Sirius says.

And then they're gone. Nothing hurts so raw and gaping as the loss of family, Regulus knows. He hadn't known the Potters as well as Sirius had, but he'd known that they loved their son above everything else.

It's three days before they come back in the middle of the night, Sirius pouring James into Regulus's bed. James looks exhausted, as though he's had all his grief and sorrow beaten out of him, relieved by the removal of his burdens. Regulus can't tell if he's hung over or still drunk. Sirius certainly looks disheveled enough to still be intoxicated.

Swimming gray eyes meet Regulus' gaze. Perhaps it should be strange, having his brother deliver his lover. Perhaps, if they were any other family, it might be.

 _Love you,_ James slurs, eyes barely open.

Regulus doesn't wonder who he's talking to.

 _You, too,_ Sirius's lips move against James's forehead, hand smoothing through his erratic tresses.

Regulus remains silent, grateful eyes on his brother.

 

 _You're just grumpy because he's been gone so long. They'll be back on Thursday,_ Regulus purrs into James's neck.

It's rare enough for James not to be the one pulling them into bed that Regulus still finds it amusing when the tables are turned. He slips James's robes from his shoulders, letting them flutter to the floor in an inky pool.

_Let's take a shower. You'll feel better._

_I just got in._ His protest lacks conviction.

Regulus smiles as he kisses James's shoulder, standing behind him. Hands snake around James's torso. Fingers looped between buttons produce the satisfying rip of fabric and thread. Finally, James smiles.

 _I liked that shirt._ The complaint is more a tease than anything else as slender fingers map his bare chest.

_I'll buy you another._

James turns in Regulus's arms, crushing their bodies flush together as he shrugs off the remains of his shirt. He likes it, Regulus thinks, the reminder that Regulus foots the majority of his bills. It isn't as though James doesn't have his own money; the Potter fortune could more than afford for James to never bother working a day in his life. There's a charm to this, however, that Regulus doesn't deny. It's likely the only way in which James is comfortable being dependent on Regulus, by allowing the younger Black to do and get for him what he could do and get for himself. It makes the great, undefined thing between them more than passing interest or boredom or convenience.

James loves easily and often, but apart from Sirius he'd likely never admit to actually needing anyone. Maybe the only reason Regulus can believe that James needs him, feels something for him, was because James never says so aloud. It's better unsaid. This way Regulus doesn't have to say it back.

 

 _Why are we even talking about this?_ James is already bored.

Bellatrix and Regulus stand in front of him, their arguing halted. She thinks it's too late, that even planning to run off with that filth is as bad as the act itself. He thinks there's still time, time before she elopes, time to stop her before she ruins her life. Really, they're just passing the time until Sirius makes up his mind. Regulus knows why Bella's so upset. If Andromeda goes through with this, Bellatrix will loose her sister forever. She's not heartless, like so many want to believe her; the idea that she might love as fiercely as she does anything else is probably too fearsome for them to digest.

The thought is derailed as James stands, moving to refill his brandy snifter. Sirius, silent and brooding, stands with one arm leaned against the fireplace's sprawling mantle, seeming as though he is ignoring them all as much as the full glass hanging at his side. He hasn't said a thing since Rodolphus Lestrange had arrived with the news. Long minutes have ticked by since he'd come and gone, filled with Sirius's silence and the argument between Regulus and Bellatrix, and James's musings are the first thing since then to draw Sirius's sidelong gaze.

 _He's the problem. He's trying to pull her away from her family._ No sin could have been greater to James. _Merlin, Sirius, you're Death Eaters. Just... you know... **fix** the problem._

A soft clink of crystal. The corner of Regulus's mouth threatens to lift. These aren't the avenues James typically advocates. Not that James intends to fully participate; he doesn't care to have his own hands that dirty.

 _Bella, get your cloak,_ Sirius instructs after draining his glass. _Regulus, if she comes here, don't let her leave._

Bella smiles, just a little. Perhaps she thinks Sirius means to let her kill the man trying to steal away her sister. Maybe he does. Sometimes Sirius could be remarkably sweet to his wife.

 

 _Eyes on me_. It's a smug instruction. _Close your eyes tomorrow, when they toss that vapid, boring bride of yours underneath you._

 _Fuck, James._ It doesn't sound as irritated as he'd meant it to.

His wedding present, James had called it, for Regulus to fuck him instead of the other way 'round. Regulus likes what it hints at, that on some level James Potter doesn't want to give up the claim he has on Regulus. If James were capable of insecurity the gesture would seem jealous, but that was too much of a concession; James is simply selfish.

And it will work, this ploy of his. Tomorrow night Regulus will be thinking of this- James in his typical unhindered, wanton arrogance. James is always good for putting on a show. One hand is casually tucked behind his head, the other wrapped around his own cock. His hips roll with Regulus, arches into every touch and bites his lip in a way so teasing toward a lack of control that it's almost too much for Regulus.

Sometimes Regulus likes the show, knowing that performing is just an intrinsic facet of James' nature. He knows that he can get James to stop, can snap him out of his awareness of their surroundings. Tonight, Regulus wants it to be real and raw. Brutal teeth find James' nipple, sucking a sharp gasp out of his lungs. Blunt nails drag along planes of flesh. Breaths grow strained and heavy. 

James fucks like he does everything else in life, with everything he has in him, with insouciant amusement and wild, hungry, penetrating eyes.

They unravel each other. It's addictive. It's needy, in the only way they're allowed to be. Other partners can get their farce, their performances, their caricature.


	4. blood

Regulus is looking for James when he almost hesitantly pushes open the door to Sirius's room. The room is dimly lit, the gaslight chandeliers low and flickering. It's intricate and ornate, befitting the head of the House of Black. Regal. Ancient. Wallpaper never curls, furniture never wears. The house itself is bound and preserved by the same magic that binds their House to glory.

Atop a desk are scattered small vials with labels too small for Regulus to read across the room. Nearby wine glasses are empty, streaked with darkening red liquid. Rolls of parchment spill over, onto the floor, lazily marked.

He knows better than to go tinkering with what must be one of Bella's projects uninvited.

His gaze turns toward his brother's bed, larger than his own, draped with dark emerald green silks and velvet. His cousin's body curves along charcoal coloured satin sheets and pillows, her pale skin in stark contrast, like shining silver. Perfect. Untarnished. Her right hand is still bound to the headboard, draping her arm above her head. The picture of exhausted elegance. One of Sirius' arms is wrapped around her waist, his head resting on her bare chest, his tousled, sweat-curled locks tucked under the sharp, delicate line of her chin. Her free hand rests along Sirius's back.

No creatures on earth are as fiercely beautiful as his family. Atavistic bones sheathed in alabaster skin, decked with ebony tresses. And gray eyes, the lot of them. They vary in specific shade, but remain uniform in depth, with a turbulence that smacks of the sea. No manner of dress could ever construe any of the Blacks to be common.

Even when they sleep they're fearsome. So perfectly at ease. Magic pulsing through their veins, bodies perfectly equipped to contain power that would have a weaker form trembling from the weight of it. How innocent they look. The illusion so nearly convincing that it only serves to highlight how false it is. Regulus smiles.

He considers releasing his cousin's arm but thinks better of it. Even if she doesn't wake up and try to kick Sirius out of his own bed, if Sirius has left her like this it's likely the way he wants to find her in the morning. It isn't in Regulus to risk disrupting their fun. Or their fighting. He doesn't need to know which is which to know he ought to keep his own hands clean of it. So instead he brushes a feather-light kiss to Bella's hair before slipping silently from the room.

 

_All 'm saying is... I mean, yer a Potter. The last 'un. You hafta have a kid._

Sirius means 'a son.' And he has a point.

It isn't any special occasion for the two of them to get totally pissed in Sirius' room. There is no particular celebration in mind. They pick mundane nights for this. Men, playing at being teenagers again. Regulus will find his bed empty when he returns from his wife's room.

_Marriage is.. it isn't s'bad. Certainly not like you've gotta start behaving yourself s'long as you pick the right witch._

In a world of marriages for blood and status it's only natural that their passions not be confined so puritanically. So long as discretion is employed. Getting caught is the only limit to a number of their games, and hiding whose bed he's in from the rest of the world is a game at which James excels. 

The possibility that something could be done to pull them apart from each other is intolerable to the both of them. Their grasping, persistent hands snatch at every way they might bind themselves to each other, unwilling to be separated as they'd been at school.

 _I do have another cousin._ Sirius's grin is sharp, matching the laughter that comes bubbling out of James.

 

Another Ministry party that Regulus finds tedious. Lucius seems fool enough to think that his position as Minister is a reward that outstripes all others.

The feathery rustle of beaded bustles is lost under the sweep of a quartet's vague progression, the sparkling chime of champagne flutes, and falsely honeyed words. It's always like this, when they have to open the doors to the public. Everyone puts on a pleasant face and titters away about things they care so little about they barely even know what words are slipping past their lips. Except the Blacks. Regulus does little to conceal aristocratic boredom when he stands next to Cecilia, his eyes routinely scanning the room for more interesting company.

Sirius is smiling his wolfish smile. Turning over a scrap of parchment to the eldest Black, Rabastan rolls his eyes. The younger Lestrange isn't as savvy a gambler as the elder, and he never feels it as smartly as when the World Cup pool comes to a head.

Regulus gives an absent nod to the new woman Cecilia is introducing.

Oddly enough, James and Bella prove difficult to spot. Ah, but there they are, against the wall near the door to the Malfoy gardens. It's almost peculiar to see the two of them together like that, with her shoulders leaning back against his chest, his hand splayed along her waist. They seem so at ease, as if this is completely normal. In the confined company of the Black Estate the two of them are inclined to bicker to amuse themselves. It doesn't have the same edge it used to, years ago, when James had first moved in.

When confronted with the outside world, with the swarming, droning masses, James and Bella constrict on each other, suddenly made fond and nearly affectionate by the presence of those who could never touch them, any of them, in any way that mattered.

Andromeda seems to appear from thin air next to the two of them, with a kiss for her sister's cheek and one for her husband's lips. Regulus never would have thought James would be so well suited to marriage, but Andromeda seems to want for nothing. Or maybe she'd just known what to expect of James.

James says something, smirking too smugly, and then three sets of eyes are on Narcissa, who is across the room, smoothing the shockingly blond hair of her three-year-old son. 

It wont be long now before an official announcement is made, before Bella starts to show, before Sirius begins to taunt Bella about what he intends to name his son- because Sirius is certain she's carrying a boy. James and Andromeda will be named as the child's godparents, of course. The next generation of Blacks is about to begin. Were any members of the Order left alive, they would have been terrified by the notion of a child from Sirius and Bellatrix Black. Her smile is curling, glittering. No one can stroke an ego like James can.

 

Cecilia hates it when Sirius and Bella are called away for dinner. It hadn't been so bad, before Octavian was born, but now Andromeda devotes her evening attention to the little Black scion. And now Cecilia has to spend the meal across the table from James, without the buffer of his wife to divert his attention. 

James, who hasn't bothered to charm his hair dry in order to declare he has so very recently bathed, whose collar is left open no doubt to intentionally reveal the scrape of red along his collarbone no doubt left by her husband's teeth. James, who barely musters the effort to conceal the way he looks at Regulus, as if he merely indulges the claim she has to her own husband.

At least Regulus manages to keep up appearances, makes an effort. James only takes such consideration when Andromeda or Bellatrix is also present. Cecilia doesn't know the source of James's emnity towards her, but she knows better than to try to discuss James with Regulus.

James is smirking like he's perfectly aware of the way he's annoying her, drinking his wine the same way Sirius does, slouching back in chair with his ankles crossed under the table. His food is mostly untouched.

Regulus suspects he understands why Sirius likes that Bella and James don't exactly get on. Few things were more subtly amusing than Cecilia's tight lips and James's careless disregard. It takes effort to keep his smile in check.

 

 _This is why we never do these things,_ Sirius sighs.

Bella is glaring at Cecilia, who tries not to notice as she pulls the raven-haired toddler back into her lap. Cecilia has been happy ever since the day she found out she was pregnant, content even, and no longer irritated by the fact that Regulus never stays after his perfunctory evenings with her. Marriage is not what she'd expected, but Regulus has at least grown fond enough of her, and he dotes on their daughter. So does James, which helps things significantly.

_Elladora, sit still._

Bella's tone is crisp and the girl obeys. Andromeda, sitting to the left of her sister, bites back a laugh. James has probably said something under his breath, because Sirius is grinning, too.

The photographer is tinkering with the camera, and says nothing about the tedious nature of a photographing young children. James is ruffling the hair of his son, Augustus. Andromeda bats his hand away, though the little boy immediately takes up his father's effort. Long Black hair for all of them. Eldest of the children in the room, Sirius's son is dividing his attention between watching Elladora to make sure she behaves and stealing glances back and forth with Augustus. They're trying to contain their impatience, itching to get outside, to get back to breaking in their new brooms.

This time, Andromeda is hoping for a girl.

 _Smiles all around,_ the photographer instructs. _One big happy family_.


End file.
